What Happens in Cherryvale
by rhombus
Summary: This is the story of how Oliver—impulsively, unknowingly, and completely obliviously—absconds with Kyle's heart. Kyle/Oliver college fic, in five parts.
1. Part I

**What Happens in Cherryvale...**

_I._

The bus rattled along the darkened highway, the road pocked and pitted by seasons of inclement weather and neglect. The passengers jostled in their seats, clutching their belongings close to their laps. Kyle felt steady, though, like nothing could knock him out of his place. Oliver's shoulder was sturdy and warm, his green cotton pullover soft against Kyle's temple. After a particularly rough patch of road, he reached over and brought Oliver's hand to his thigh, interlacing their fingers. Oliver squeezed his hand. Relaxed, Kyle let his eyelids grow heavy, thinking to himself how good it felt to be so close to someone they felt like an extension of his own limbs.

Before his eyes fell shut, he could just make out the "_Welcome to Llanview_" sign as it whirred past the window.

_Six months earlier_

Kyle bopped his head as 50 Cent blared out of the speakers. The party, amazingly, was in full swing, despite his initial worries that the guy in charge of the CD player would have a hard-on for Yanni or John Denver or something equally unbefitting KAD's first big kegger of the year. Well, big was a relative term. They weren't going to break any maximum occupancy laws, but they had nothing to be ashamed of either, considering their less-than-stellar reputation on campus.

He wondered how many of the guys even knew their frat had been not-so-affectionately termed The Scraps by some of the other houses (short, he was sure, for Scrappa Alpha Delta; no one was claiming genius here)—named so because the guys who had worked so hard to reinstate the Llanview chapter were, well, rejects. Geeks. Determined geeks, well-organized geeks, to be sure, otherwise they wouldn't have been able to pull off such a grand scheme. Shunned by the rest of society, they had set out to carve their own little corner of campus, and succeeded. Kappa Alpha Delta, defunct for nearly a decade, lived on once again.

He was surprised the house was throwing a party at all instead of a chess tournament. Not that he was judging. He liked his brothers and fellow pledges. They knew what it was like to be outsiders, and that generally made them into decent people. Kyle would take decent over cool any day of the week.

Plus, there was something to be said about being the coolest guy in the room at any given time. It meant that he could get away with standing alone behind the counter that divided the kitchen from the living room, just watching, playing the role of Mysterious Loner. It suited him just fine to be by himself.

As his gaze swept across the almost-crowded room, he tried not to notice that his attention kept drifting toward—oh, what was his name? Dudley Do-Right, my cop dad is the bestest ever, I don't know if we should be supplying beer at a party with all us underage students guy... Fisher? No... just Fish. _Oliver_ Fish, who was getting a little green around the gills as he stumbled his way through a conversation with a relatively good looking girl. A bit out of place with this group, she had obviously strayed into the wrong party and was already halfway to wasted. She seemed to be enjoying herself, though. She couldn't take her eyes off Fish, who, Kyle admitted to himself, cut a pretty dashing figure in his black button-down and dark jeans. Not that he was paying particularly close attention.

Drunk Girl brought her hand up to Fish's forearm, and as he sucked down the rest of his fourth beer since Kyle had begun counting—not that he was _keeping_ count, just that he _could_ count—Fish looked absolutely petrified. He shifted on his feet a bit unsteadily, his glazed eyes following the hand as it moved and up and down his bicep, up and down, up and down, venturing past the shoulder and charting an exploration to the back of his head. Drunk Girl was getting a little frisky, it seemed, and poor old Fish looked like he wanted to barf.

And then he did. All over Drunk Girl's designer shoes.

Her lip curled up in disgust. "Ugh! Stupid _ass_hole!" In a blur of motion, her hand met Fish's slack face with a resounding _thwack!_

Kyle's fist clenched unconsciously. "Oh... shit." Without thinking, he skirted around the edge of the counter and rushed toward the pair as a chorus of "_oooooohs_" rang through the room.

Drunk Girl pulled back both arms, preparing it seemed to shove Fish in the chest as hard as she could—which would not have ended well given Fish's drunken state and the jagged metal CD rack directly behind him—but Kyle got there first, grabbing Fish by the limp arm and dragging him out of the line of fire. "Come with me, pal."

"These 're $400 shoes, dick!"

"You're a real peach," Kyle called back as he ushered a befuddled and unhelpfully wobbly Fish toward the bathroom by the patio doors. "Someone clean that up, will ya?"

Kyle shouldered open the bathroom door and flipped on the light, which seemed to startle Fish. He flung an arm over his eyes and lost his balance, toppling toward the glass shower stall.

"Whoa whoa whoa." Kyle grabbed Fish around the waist with both arms, steadying him, bringing their chests together. "Hey there, buddy. I gotcha. How you doing? You okay to stand on your own for a sec?"

Fish nodded, looking a little shell-shocked. "This party is... the bomb," he mumbled, slowly retracting from Kyle and bracing his hands on the tile counter.

Chuckling, Kyle wet a washcloth in the sink and handed it over. "Yeah. The bomb diggity." He rubbed a hand over Fish's back in a soothing motion as Fish buried his face in the cloth. "Let's get you back to your room, big guy. You okay to walk? Which hall are you in?"

"Lowell-ll-ll." His tongue seemed to get caught on that last tricky consonant.

"That's convenient. Me too. C'mon. I'll get you home." It was, of course, the decent thing to do.

"'kay."

He guided Fish out of the bathroom and through the back patio doors, opting to keep as low a profile as possible. They walked the perimeter of the house, shivering a bit in the cool autumn air, Fish's arm slung heavily over Kyle's shoulders, and exited through the side gate. It was slow going, as Fish would stop every couple hundred yards to point out something "cool" or "neat-o". Kyle had to admit he wasn't quite as fascinated by dead leaves on the ground or street lamps as Fish apparently was.

Finally, with what Kyle could only call a saintly effort of patience on his behalf, they made it to their destination. Lowell Hall, south wing, fifth floor, room 521.

He knocked on the door, hoping that Fish's roommate would be in. On a Friday night. At 11:00pm.

No such luck. The door silently stared them down, unmoving.

Kyle sighed and presented his palm. "Key?" After a few seconds of silence, he waved his hand in front of Fish's face. "Fish? Hello?"

"Hmm?" Fish turned his head and blinked at him, as if trying to wake himself from his stupor.

"Your keys? Unless you want to sleep in the hallway tonight...?"

"Front—front pocket."

"Oh." Kyle hesitated. He had to be careful here. He knew how easy it was to scare off friendships with other guys if they thought he was getting a little _too_ friendly. It sucked, but he had learned to adapt.

He nervously rubbed his hands together, then thrust two fingers into the left pocket and quickly retrieved the keys, trying not to make contact with anything but metal, as if he were playing _Operation_. He always kicked ass at that game. "A ha!" He jangled the keys in celebration.

Fish giggled. Kyle took a moment to replay the sound in his mind just to make sure it was a giggle, and not a chuckle. After a short pause, he could confirm: It was a giggle.

"All right, buddy. In we go. You can do it."

"My mouth tastes gross."

"I bet it does." Kyle propped Fish up against the wall. "Where's your toothbrush?"

Fish pointed to a small plastic container next to his bed.

"Here we go again." Kyle sighed and, one hand clutching the container, lifted Fish under the arm and steadied him on his shoulder. They managed to make it down the hall to the communal bathrooms in record time—if the rest of their trek was to be taken as the norm. Kyle was grateful that Fish could function well enough to take care of his own teeth. There were limits to his generosity, after all.

Once they were finally back in Fish's room, Kyle shifted on his feet, not quite sure what to do next. The shoes should come off. That seemed obvious. But what of those jeans? They weren't going to be very comfortable to sleep in, even if Fish was likely to pass out on the bed as soon as he hit it.

Making up his mind, Kyle reached out a hand. "Don't freak out, Fish. I just need to check something." He delved below the band of the jeans and tugged at the fabric beneath.

Boxers. Perfect.

The shoes and jeans came off. Fish followed orders as they were given, zombie-like. Stand still. Lift foot. Other foot. Sit down. Lie back.

Kyle brought Fish's comforter up his recumbent body to his chest, practically forcing himself to not make any tucking motions. Drunk as he was, coddled as he needed to be, Fish was still an adult, and adults didn't go around getting tucked in by other adults. To keep his fidgety hands busy, Kyle smoothed down the fabric of the comforter at Fish's side instead.

Fish looked up at him, blinking, as if seeing him for the first time. "Hi."

"Hi." Kyle couldn't hold back a smile.

"I'm Oliver."

"I know."

"You're... Kyle." Oliver reached up and gently _booped!_ Kyle on the nose.

"I know that too," Kyle said through a laugh. "Poor guy. You have got to get better at talking to girls, 'cause they are _not_ gonna stop fawning over you any time soon. You're too damn cute for your own good."

"No, _you're_ cute."

Kyle tilted his head and regarded Oliver for a moment, before shaking his head with a chuckle. "Again, these are things I already know."

Oliver smiled up at him, his tongue peeking out through his teeth. For reasons he didn't want to think about, Kyle forced himself to look anywhere else except at that little glimpse of tongue. He focused on the window, instead. "Better close those blinds," he said, reaching across Oliver for the cords. "You're gonna wake up with one hell of an unfriendly hangover, and the last thing you need is an east-facing view."

As Kyle retreated, task accomplished, Oliver leaned up and gave him a quick peck on the chin.

"'night, Kyle."

Kyle froze in place, his mouth hanging open. Oliver... Oliver confounded him. Finally, he forced out a quiet, "Goodnight, Oliver."

He stood, suddenly not knowing what to do with his hands, so he shoved them in his pockets. He hovered over the bed a few minutes longer, watching Oliver as he fell asleep with a grin on his face—Jesus, an _adorable_ grin—and in that moment Kyle knew in his heart that no good would come of this.


	2. Part II

**What Happens In Cherryvale...**

_II._

Kyle had lost count the number of times a day he had to remind himself that just because someone was especially friendly with him, or paid extra attention to him, that didn't necessarily mean they were flirting with him. Or even if they _were_ flirting with him, that they were necessarily interested in him. He knew it well enough from experience. There were plenty of hopeless girls in his lab sections, or back in Halston and Cherryvale, who could hang their disappointments on Kyle's flirty eyes. When the mood struck him, it was almost as if he couldn't _not_ flirt. Even when he wasn't interested. At all.

So it shouldn't have surprised him that Oliver was capable of the same.

Even if he sought Kyle out practically every day, even if his eyes sparkled with amusement at Kyle's lame jokes, even if he sometimes ruffled Kyle's hair and let his hand linger a little longer than was entirely necessary... that didn't mean he was interested. He was just a nice guy. Friendly. Relaxed. Companionable.

Except there was one small difference. As far as Kyle could tell, and it's not like he lacked for observation, Oliver was only ever that way with _him_.

The poor guy still fumbled and stammered his way through encounters with girls, mostly unsuccessful, usually a little too over-enthusiastic, sometimes strangely withdrawn. He'd stopped horking on them though, which was a definite improvement. But he never really seemed like _himself_ around them. Not the Oliver that Kyle knew, anyway. The one he saved only for Kyle.

So, okay, maybe Oliver _was_ interested in him. Kyle wasn't going to exclude the possibility outright. It wouldn't be the first time he'd coaxed someone out of their seemingly straight shell.

But if that was the case, it was taking Oliver goddamn _forever_ to make his move.

It's not like Kyle had been discouraging him. He'd been working the flirty eyes like mad. Because as much as Kyle had tried to ignore it when their strange friendship first blossomed, he could no longer deny that Oliver, the real Oliver, his Oliver, was all kinds of hot.

He should know. He dedicated an embarrassingly large chunk of his free time to studying Oliver, and Kyle prided himself on his studying prowess. Yet he couldn't quite pin him down. Oliver could be talkative, pensive, geeky, butch, jittery, assertive, and flit between them all in the course of one rapid exhalation. There were no limits, it seemed, to the facets of Oliver Fish. It was maddening. And fascinating. Awesome and frightening.

Even if Oliver was straight, even if he wasn't interested in Kyle that way, Kyle still enjoyed hanging out with him. A lot. More than he felt comfortable admitting. It was too daunting a prospect to find himself relying on the constancy of someone's company, to get accustomed to someone being there, but who, with one wrong, stupid move—which he couldn't seem to avoid making—would be stripped from him.

Which was exactly why he was waiting for Oliver to make the first move. In Oliver's dorm room. While his roommate had back-to-back-to-back classes. Both of them relaxed and goofy and totally at ease with each other. If it didn't happen, it didn't. They could stay friends—close, but not too close. Close-_ish_. Buds. Pals. Boys-with-a-z. That's all he wanted, really.

Oliver was leaning against his pillow, spinning a foam football in the air and catching it. Kyle's head rested at the foot of the mattress. Their bent knees formed matching peaks at the center of the bed.

Kyle propped himself up on his elbows. "I have a serious question for you."

Oliver caught the ball and looked at him, his expression open, fearless. "Shoot."

"_The Simpsons_ or _Futurama_?"

Oliver rolled his eyes and laughed, as if to say 'This again.'

"Easy," he replied. "_Futurama_."

"In-ter-est-ing. A bold choice. I agree." Kyle paused, biting his lip. The delinquent hamsters in his head were spinning their wheels. A plan had formed. A little test. "How about... _Empire_ or _Jedi_?"

Oliver stared at Kyle like he was mentally deficient. "_Way_ too easy. _Empire_."

Kyle kept his tone casual. "No love for the gold bikini?" He was fishing and he knew it. He chuckled to himself. _Fishing_.

Oliver shrugged, scratching his chin with two fingers. "Not enough Yoda in _Jedi_. Plus, ewoks..." He sucked in his cheeks, as if the word itself was bitter in his mouth.

"Fair enough." Except that it left Kyle as answer-less as before. Maybe if he riled him up a little bit, hit a little close to home, his experiment would yield definitive results. "Okay." He drummed his hands on the mattress. "_Next Generation_, or _The Original Series_?"

Oliver sat up straight. "Are you kidding me? Totally unfair question. That's like asking me to choose between my arms!" He shook his head, squeezing his lips together. "Can't do it."

"Have to."

"Fine." He sighed, sinking back against the pillow. "_Next Generation_."

"Huh. Should've figured. It's a bit more your speed."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You know. Brainy. Slow. Boring."

Oliver looked down and picked at something on his comforter. "And that's not what _you're_ into, huh?"

Kyle stared at Oliver, thoroughly examined him, his slumped shoulders, his disappointment, as if Kyle had just rejected _him_, instead of some TV show.

All of a sudden his fun little experiment became something real. His stomach leapt into his chest, taking up residence next to his drumming heart.

He attempted to deflect this sudden onset of nerves with a joking tone. "What can I say? Gimme the Shat blowing up Gorns and shit with bamboo rockets any day of the week, man!" He thought he almost sounded believable. "Best fight scene _ever_."

Oliver scowled at him. "I _seriously_ hope you're joking."

"And what if I'm not? What're you gonna do about it?" Kyle smiled and sucked in a deep breath, hoping to calm his thrumming nerves and pounding heart. Attempting playfulness, he knocked Oliver's knee with his own. Unsurprisingly, the physical contact did nothing to un-buzz his chest.

Oliver knocked back a little harder, grinning now. Kyle smirked as a new planned formed. Those head-hamsters were devious little bastards.

"Picard was such a little pussy, too." He brought his arm up to shield his face, planting the seed.

Oliver gasped. "Lies!" As predicted, he reached back and chucked the foam football at Kyle's chest.

Kyle plucked the ball out of his lap and shoved it behind him, wedging it between his lower back and the bed. "It's mine now, buddy." He had to play this balanced. Hedge his bets. Nothing too suggestive. Nothing that a friend could misinterpret—that is, if he didn't want to. "Unless you can... get it back somehow."

"Watch me."

Oliver lunged at him. Kyle clenched the football in a tight hold behind him as the two grappled for it. Oliver kept a healthy distance between them, balancing himself with one arm as the other reached around Kyle. Licking his lips, Kyle oh-so-innocently nudged that steadying arm with his elbow. In the heat of battle, things happen. It's not like he _meant_ to send Oliver crashing down on top of him, their chests moving together in concurrent breaths. And then, when he adjusted his hips, lifting them slightly so that they rubbed against Oliver's, it was only to straighten himself out on the bed. That was all; nothing more.

As Oliver inhaled sharply, his eyes darkening, the hamsters in Kyle's head cackled with glee.

And then they shut right the hell up when Oliver's mouth found his.

They were good kisses. Excellent kisses. Kyle's favorite kind of kisses: not too deep, not too insistent, just steady and soft. Focusing solely on the lips, gently sucking them, pressuring them, so that the tingles started and stayed there, the whole body disappearing until all he could feel were his lips and Oliver's. Kisses that took their time, allowing them to savor the feeling, the pleasant glow that rippled slowly, tantalizingly out to his cheeks, his ears, down his neck, to his chest.

His chest—where his whirlpool of nerves suddenly re-awoke and bubbled up, flooding out of his busy mouth in a torrent of words he couldn't suppress.

"Finally... _mmm_... _Finally_. I couldn't... _mmm_... couldn't _not_ kiss you any longer." He was babbling like an idiot, but he couldn't stop or else his chest would explode. "_Mmm_ nice... feels nice... you're good... Thank _God_ you're... _mmm_... you're gay."

The lips retreated with a pop and without their warmth the cool air in the room was like a slap in the face.

Oliver pushed up, off of Kyle, and skid backwards, escaping to the far end of the bed.

"Whoa—I'm not—" He whipped his head back and forth, like a wet dog. "Hold up." His hands clenched the comforter. "Are _you_ gay?"

The laughter died in Kyle's throat when he saw the grim expression on Oliver's face. "You've got to be kidding me. You're serious with this? Of _course_ I'm gay, you moron. Why do you think we were just...?" He gestured back and forth between them. Oliver looked at him like he had no idea what he was talking about. Kyle dragged his hand down his face in confusion. They _were_ just kissing. He was sure of that.

"Oliver. Are you telling me you're _not_ gay? Because that, to put in terms you might understand, _does not compute_. You just kissed me! Again!" Kyle finally allowed himself to laugh at the ridiculousness of this whole thing.

"What are you talking about, 'again'?"

He forced out a smile, trying to keep the tone of the conversation light. Friendly. They were pals, after all. "All right, fine. I guess the first time doesn't count." He gently knocked knees with Oliver again. "It's no surprise you don't remember. After that frat party last fall, when I dragged your drunk ass back here—you kissed me. Right here." He pointed to his chin, his eyebrows raised, half a smile curling his lips.

Oliver furrowed his brow. "I don't... remember much about that night."

"'cause you were wasted. It was hilarious."

Oliver remained still. Silent. He kept his gaze down, unfocused. The way he got sometimes with girls. He'd never been like that with Kyle before. It... upset Kyle to see him that way—with him.

"We should talk about this. What just happened."

"Nothing happened," Oliver mumbled. "We were just playing... horsing around."

Kyle let out a hollow laugh. "Unless you're a stallion in spring, that is so totally not what we were doing."

"Why didn't you tell me you were gay?"

Kyle's eyebrows shot up. What the hell? Was Oliver really playing dumb here?

"I can't believe you're pretending like this is news to you."

"It is!"

"We've talked about this before. How can you not know I'm gay? I pretty much told you already."

Oliver shook his head, adamant. "I don't remember that. Believe me, I would have remembered it. 'Oh, by the way, Fish. I'm gay.' That didn't happen."

"Not like that, no. Who does that? God." Kyle rubbed the back of his neck. "Okay, for one thing, you've seen my dorm room. You asked me about the magazine cut-outs on the wall."

"The ones you stole from the library."

Kyle rolled his eyes. "Yes. Those."

"That—that tennis guy, and the soccer player."

"When you asked why I had pictures of them, you really never wondered why I said, and I quote, '_Because they're hot_'?"

Oliver shifted uncomfortably and crossed his arms over his chest. "I thought you meant, you know, like they were on a winning streak or something."

Kyle couldn't help it. He rolled his eyes again. "And when I mentioned how awesome I thought their big, hairy arms are?"

"I thought you were joking." Oliver finally met his gaze again. He looked like a lost little boy. He may have been dumb, but he wasn't playing it.

Kyle buried his head in his hands. "Agh, this is so embarrassing." He swallowed and the lump in his throat traveled down and settled into a dark, heavy knot in his stomach.

Oliver bit his bottom lip and looked up at the ceiling. "Um, yeah. You should probably..."

"I'm gonna go."

"Yeah."

"Okay."

Kyle slowly removed himself from the bed and slipped his shoes back on. Things were... weird. Which is exactly what he didn't want. His stupid test—those damn hamsters! All those clever plans and he couldn't even say if the experiment was a stunning success or a resounding failure. Inconclusive, at best. Humiliating, at worst.

Once outside the room, he collapsed against Oliver's closed door, his eyes falling shut, his breaths slow and labored. He remained there for a few minutes, trying to shove the last fifteen minutes of his stupid life into the very back of his mind, where the memories wouldn't bother anyone.

He was about to push off when the door retreated underneath his weight, swinging away from him, leaving him off-balanced and stumbling backward. Right into Oliver. "_Ohcrap_."

Oliver's arm circled him, keeping him from his urgent appointment with the floor. Kyle thought—but it could have been a trick of his mind—he felt Oliver's fingers squeeze his chest. His ears played tricks on him, too, when he heard Oliver take in a deep breath, as if he were... smelling him.

"I was just—just leaving."

Oliver suddenly released him, and without saying a word brushed past his shoulders, walked down the hall and pushed into the stairwell, the door slamming shut behind him.

Kyle reached back and reflexively closed Oliver's door, ensuring it was locked.

He breathed deeply. Despite his attempts to forget this whole thing ever happened, he couldn't deny himself a solitary moment of self-reflection.

His stomach flipped in circles. How weird, how _impossibly_ weird it felt to be desired and rejected in the same heartbeat.

He made a mental note to avoid that feeling in the future.


	3. Part III

**What Happens in Cherryvale...**

_III._

"God damn shitting piece of shit-crap _garbage!_"

Things were not going great.

In fact, life kind of sucked. Kyle stomped through the University Center student lounge, jabbing the keypad on his cell phone in supreme frustration. L-Cell was a garbage carrier and someone really should've done something about their stranglehold monopoly over the city of Llanview.

He'd really had enough of the stares, too. This wasn't the goddamn _library_, so everyone could just shove it with their glares and judging faces. He could have his little tantrum if he damn well felt like it.

It really didn't help his mood at all that Housing and Dining was kicking him out over the break so they could do the oh-so-important work of shampooing the carpets in his res hall. When he thought about it, they were to blame for the whole thing. If he didn't need a place to stay, he wouldn't have needed his stupid piece of shit cell phone to work so he could embark on the Kyle Lewis begging tour of 2004.

He thought joining a frat would have prevented these kinds of dilemmas, but, _no_, the Student Activities Committee's subcommittee on ethics or rules or whatever had to go and put sanctions on the house: one year probation on independent living arrangements. Kyle shook his head at the stupidity. The "house" was pretty much the bread and butter of the frat house concept, as far as he could tell.

Lord knew the idea of "fraternity" didn't seem to mean a damn thing to the guys he'd met in this town.

Guys who just... stopped hanging around and being cool once they found out their friend kinda-sorta wanted to jump their bones.

Guys who he was pretty sure wanted to jump his bones, too, but were too stupid to realize it.

Oh, he _knew_ Oliver was gay. There was no doubt in his mind. It was _Oliver's_ mind that seemed a little slow on the uptake. He wasn't going to try to convince him otherwise, though. It was obviously a lost cause. Oliver wasn't in denial. He was just completely and totally oblivious.

They had actually tried to hang out, once, after The Incident, to watch a 76ers game with a couple other guys. Oliver's idea, so Kyle wasn't going to take the blame for any more manipulations. Plus, witnesses. It couldn't possibly deviate from totally innocent stuff between bros.

Shock of shocks, it did not go particularly well.

Kyle blamed the weather. It had been an unusually dry week for February—global warming at work—and a charge had been building in the air. So, when they both reached for the remote control at the same moment, there was a perfectly good scientific explanation for why, when their fingers accidentally brushed against each other, they both felt the electric shock. Kyle thought it was slightly hilarious. Oliver... not so much. He sprang off the futon with such alarm Kyle would have thought there were fire ants crawling up his leg.

That was almost two months ago. They hadn't so much as shared a glance since then, much less an electrical charge.

Not that it bothered Kyle. It was just another reminder in a long line of how dumb it was to _want_ someone to be there, to forget about independence and self-reliance and all the things that wouldn't let you down. A reminder that he'd survived this sort of dissolution before, and come out okay. Just another of the many hazards of his very excellent life to date. Like crummy cell phones and annoying onlookers. He continued jabbing at the buttons and cursing, hoping it would relieve the sudden unexplained heaviness in his chest.

"_What?_" he barked when a pair of legs walked into his downward line of vision. An arm shoved something at the general direction of his chest.

"Here."

He looked up from his phone. "Oh." His breath seemed to elude him for a moment. "Oliver." He cleared his throat and glanced around the room sheepishly. "Hey."

"Hi."

"What's, uh, what's up... dude?"

Oliver offered up his arm again, just the barest hint of a smile on his face. "My phone? Do you wanna borrow it? You sound a little... stressed out."

Kyle laughed, and in that one exhalation felt all the weight in his chest float out into the ether. "You don't know the half of it."

He grabbed the phone, turned away from Oliver, and dialed quickly, wanting to get everything settled and taken care of and go on his merry way... away from Oliver and everything about him that was just so... him.

"Hey, uh, Sue? It's Kyle. I was just wondering... You need any work done around the place this week? It's just, I've got some time off school and could maybe come down... Really? Okay. Great! Sounds good. Can you, uh, pick me up at the bus stop? Ah, you're the best. I'll see you then."

Closing the phone, he started to wonder why he'd been freaking out in the first place. Of course there was a person out there he could rely on. _People_, really.

"Thanks. You're a life saver." He handed the phone back to Oliver, who turned it over in his hand a few times before shoving it in his back pocket.

"So, what's wrong with your phone? Maybe I could take a look at it? I'm pretty good with stuff like that."

Kyle waved his hand dismissively. "No, I know. It's just these phone companies. They get so cranky when you stop paying 'em."

Oliver thrust his hands in his pockets. "So, uh, making plans for spring break, huh?"

"What, were you eavesdropping? Enjoy listening in on private conversations, do ya?"

Oliver took a step back and lifted up his arms in protest. "Hey, whoa! Hey now! Just asking. _Jeez_."

Kyle dropped his head and smiled, secretly enjoying the random outburst of Oliver-emotion. "Sorry. Sorry. Force of habit. Always looking to accuse. You know me."

"Yeah." Oliver bit his lip and averted his eyes.

"You're right, though. Just making my spring break plans."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. My, uh, my aunt's got this little place outside of Cherryvale where she raises a few horses, so I thought it would be nice, if this crazy warm weather holds, to go out there for a bit. Plus, she's getting old and the work's hard, so I know she can always use a hand."

Oliver nodded. He kicked one foot against the heel of the other.

"So, uh, got any fun plans of your own, Oliver?"

He shrugged. "Iowa. Parents."

"So... no."

Oliver rolled his eyes and smiled, keeping his gaze toward the ceiling. "I guess not. My mom wants me home for Easter, but I dunno. I'm not really interested. They like to do the whole thing, really do it up, and, well, I—" He quickly surveyed the room, as if checking to make sure his mom wasn't hiding behind a couch, spying on him. "Not really my thing I guess."

Kyle's mouth dropped in mock horror. "You've gone heathen?"

Oliver pulled back his head, as if slapped. "No! No. Not really. I just, I dunno." He started kicking his own shoes again. "I guess I just like to spend time with my faith on my own. It feels more... personal that way, you know?"

"Not really, but I can guess." Kyle grinned, amazed the two of them were back to multi-word sentences and doing the whole _Chicken Soup for the Soul_ thing. He reached over and slapped Oliver on the arm, a little too hard—just to make sure it tipped platonic. "You need some alone-time with the Big Guy, huh? Don't like to share?"

Oliver laughed, looking him straight in the eye. "Sure."

"So..." It was Kyle's turn to shove his hands in his pockets.

"Yeah..."

Removing a hand, he slapped Oliver on the arm again, even harder this time. "I'll, uh, see you around I guess."

"Yeah. I guess."

Kyle turned to leave, but stopped when he felt a tug on his sleeve.

"Kyle?"

His gaze traveled down to Oliver's hand on his shirt, then back up into his face. "Mm hmm?"

"You're wrong about Picard." Oliver's eyes sparkled.

Kyle felt his face flush. "I know. I was just messing with ya."

With a final nod, Kyle strode toward the exit, his head down to hide the smile he couldn't restrain, and as the automatic doors slid out of his way and he stepped into the warm April afternoon, life didn't seem to suck so much anymore.

* * * * *  
"God damn shitting piece of shit shitty fucking heat wave."

Kyle peeled off his sweat-soaked shirt and hurled it to the ground before giving it a mighty kick.

He wasn't averse to hot weather. Not at all. It was when you combined unseasonably high temperatures with stripping stables and the really unpleasant smell of wood shavings soaked in urine—that was when the universe lost the favor of one Kyle Lewis.

And he didn't remember the feed bags being this heavy before. Maybe the academic lifestyle was making him soft.

Still, he had a roof over his head at night and a stove top for home-cooked meals. There was always a bargain to make in life. Nothing came for free.

He hauled a stack of dirty blankets onto his bare shoulder and trudged out of the stables. He had just thrown them onto the rusted wheelbarrow when he saw a figure approaching slowly from the bottom of the drive.

"Holy... crap..."

Oliver. Here in Cherryvale. Wandering around with a sheet of paper in front of his face, squinting in all directions. Oliver. _Jesus_. What did _that_ mean? He decided a cool, cautious approach would serve him best. He didn't want to screw up again. Not when things between them were... slightly okay, verging on good.

Cool and cautious, he reminded himself, yet he couldn't stop his left leg from shaking.

He pulled off his baseball cap and wiped the sweat from his brow. Oliver had apparently taken notice of him, and was marching, at quite the clip, toward him.

"Kyle! Hey!" He stopped a few feet away and reached out a hand, then quickly pulled it back and shoved it in his back pocket. "I thought I'd gotten lost. This place is so... open. I didn't know there was anything like this out here. Wow. You're a mess." Oliver looked him up and down, or at least that was probably the intent. His gaze stopped somewhere around his midsection and then went a little hazy.

Kyle sucked in a deep breath, which seemed to revive Oliver's attention.

"How on _earth_ did you find me?"

Oliver rubbed his hands together and smiled, apparently pleased with himself. "You used my phone!"

Kyle tilted his head and crossed his arms over his chest. "_What_ are you talking about?"

"Your aunt's phone number is listed."

"Still not following."

Oliver was practically bouncing. "There's this great new thing, maybe you've heard of it? It's called the internet? Yeah, so all you have to do is type in a listed phone number and up pops any public address information. A quick little search on Llannet Maps, one bus ticket later, and, well, here I am."

Kyle blinked, then swallowed. "You went to all that trouble to find me?"

"Kyle. I typed ten numbers into a search engine and hit 'enter.' It wasn't exactly the Tour de France." He reached out a hand and rested it gently on Kyle's bare shoulder, but drew it back almost as soon as contact was made. The humidity was higher than the last time their skin made contact, but Kyle could still feel some electricity in that touch.

"Then you—you did all that other stuff, and the bus ticket, and—hey, why aren't you at home? What happened to Iowa?"

Oliver blew the air out of his cheeks and began pacing back and forth. "Home... Home wasn't so much fun." He jabbed his finger in the air as his voice rose. "First, my dad left on his fishing trip with the guys and he—he told me he was going to wait for me but he didn't, and then my mom wouldn't stop pressuring me about Easter and—and Becky, and then forcing me to spend some time alone with Becky, who kept insisting that we do things that I really, really didn't feel like doing, and the whole thing was just a mess and it made me realize that I missed... missed being around someone who was... who sees... I guess I just missed hanging out with you—just being _us_. It's been such a long—" He finally took a breath. "That's—that's more information than you needed."

Kyle laughed. "True." He couldn't resist a little teasing, not with Oliver already so worked up. "So this Becky person? You and she, uh...?" He wiggled his eyebrows and curled the fingers of his right hand in a loose fist, then thrust his left index finger through the hole three or four times.

"God, no! No no no no no!" Oliver stopped in his tracks and waved his arms in front of him, as if warding off evil spirits. "I mean, it's not that I—I don't want to, or—or—or can't! I'm not—not some kind of prude or anything, I just..." He inhaled deeply. "She's not the one."

Kyle stopped breathing for a moment. It took a few seconds for his faculties to return. He nodded his head up and down slowly. "Uh huh. Don't worry, pal. I believe you."

Oliver shifted his weight from foot to foot, bouncing from his heels to his tiptoes, casting surreptitious glances over Kyle's shoulder toward the main house.

"Is your, uh, aunt around?"

"Nah. She's out for... well, pretty much the rest of the day. As soon as this old workhorse rolls into town to start doing the heavy lifting, she likes to take off and have a little... personal time. With her gentlemen friends. At the bar."

Oliver brought his attention back to Kyle. "Does that bother you?"

"Not anymore. When I was a little younger, maybe."

"Did you used to stay out here a lot?"

Kyle paused, choosing his words carefully. "Yeah. I stuck around here pretty much all the time during my junior and senior year. What's with the twenty questions?"

"Just curious. You know, making—making small talk."

"Okay. Whatever you say."

Kyle patted him on the shoulder. Oliver stared down at the hand, then his gaze moved down the arm to Kyle's unclothed chest. He sucked in a shaky breath. "Um..."

Kyle removed the hand and thumbed the stables over his shoulder. "So, you wanna give me a hand, or what? This ain't a vacation, sunshine. If you're staying for dinner, you gotta work for your food around he—_mmmfph_."

Suddenly Oliver's hands were behind his ears, his insistent mouth moving frantically against Kyle's. Unsteady, they shuffled backward until Kyle butted up against the wall of the stables. Once that stability shored them up, their lips fell into a more comfortable rhythm. More leisurely. More exploratory. More satisfying. Finally, Oliver pulled back.

Kyle breathed hard and squinted up at Oliver's face. "What brought that on?" Not that he was complaining.

Oliver seemed dazed, almost trance-like. He spoke slowly, his eyes still closed. "I dunno. Seemed... okay, didn't it?"

Kyle grinned. "Yeah. That was pretty okay." He remembered their last kiss and chuckled at how okay that had been too, until it wasn't. Best to check the waters first this time, he thought. Make sure he knew from the get-go where he stood. Put things to the test. He took a deep breath, preparing himself for the dust that would be left in Oliver's wake. "Thank God I'm gay, right?"

Oliver remained, dust firmly in place under his feet.

He shook his head and cupped Kyle's cheek. "It's not that. It's just..." He looked toward the sky and exhaled, as if he were about to give a confession. "Thank God you're _you_?"

Well now. That did it. Kyle felt it safe to declare the waters thoroughly tested. With a curt nod, he granted himself carte blanche to maul Oliver's mouth.


	4. Part IV

**What Happens in Cherryvale...**

_IV._

"There's really a lake on the property?"

Oliver sat at the small wooden table in the kitchen, tapping his knuckles against the surface while Kyle poured canned spaghetti sauce over the just-drained noodles.

"I wouldn't call it a lake. A really big pond. It's nothing like Llantano Lake. Here." He set the full plates on the table and plopped into the other chair. "Maybe tomorrow, after we finish with the horses, we'll pack up a couple of beers and I'll take you out there."

Oliver looked down at his hands and smiled. "Sounds nice."

"Now eat up." Kyle tapped his fork against his plate. "You're gonna need these carbs."

Oliver groaned. "You're really gonna make me work?"

Kyle grinned and tilted his head. "Oh, you don't even know," he said before digging in. After his afternoon of strenuous work in the stables—and pushed up against the wall of the stables—he was particularly famished.

After dinner had been devoured and the dishes washed, dried, and put away, Oliver followed Kyle to the front porch, where they sat together on the wooden swing, popping open bottles of beers from a cooler. Kyle liked to wait up for Sue. It was something he'd always done, but it felt different having someone there with him. The night air didn't seem so dead, the end of the drive not so distant and dark.

Kyle debated whether he should bring up their recent activities. Taking a sip of beer, he opted to remain mum. They had a comfortable silence going, the only sound the occasional clink of glass against wood, and anything Kyle did to splinter that peace would be nothing less than self-sabotage.

Finally, Oliver sighed, breaking open the quiet. "So you really like it out here in Cherryvale, huh?" He folded his hands in his lap, his beer clasped in between, and kept his gaze forward, into the dark, unfocused distance.

Kyle shrugged and brought his bottle to his lips. "Like is maybe too strong a word."

"But you said you used to come here a lot during high school..." Oliver kicked his feet off the porch, sending them into a gentle swing.

"Oh yeah. Right. I did say that." Kyle took another sip. "Let's just say that it wasn't exactly my first choice and leave it at that."

"Oh. Okay."

Kyle reached into the cooler. "You want another?"

"Um, no. No thanks." Oliver lifted his half-full bottle. "I'm good."

They fell into another silence. This one didn't suit Kyle. He wanted to hear Oliver's voice. It was becoming something of a guilty pleasure.

"Crazy heat wave, huh?" A desperate move, talking about the weather. He was on vacation; he didn't expect his brain to work at full capacity. Not when he was sitting so close to someone so distracting, what with that face and those eyes and that voice that seemed to caress his ears and send tremors all the way down to his stomach. Desperate moves were entirely necessary. He brought the bottle back up to his mouth.

Oliver blew the air out of his cheeks and looked down. "Does your aunt know about... you know... you?"

Kyle squinted his eyes, as if it would help sort out Oliver's words. "Who and the what now?"

"Your aunt?" Oliver gestured toward to the house, beer still in hand. "Does she know about you... and, um, guys?"

"Oh. Sue. Yeah. Totally." Kyle breathed out a sigh relief. They'd been avoiding the subject since they came in for dinner. There was so much he wanted Oliver to say, to elucidate.

Oliver turned toward him. "And she's okay with it?"

Kyle smiled and quirked his head. "You know, we've never actually had a sit-down talk about it, but I don't think it bothers her." He laughed, rubbing a thumb across his eyebrow. "I mean, she caught me kissing this guy out by the paddock one day, and she didn't, like, throw a fit. She just told me to quit fooling around and do some homework or something. It was... kind of a special moment, just in how, well, ordinary it was. I think I'll always love her for that."

Oliver nodded, his gaze distant. He took a long swig from his bottle. "So she won't mind me being here?"

"Like I said before. As long as you contribute around the place, you can stay as long as you want. That's always been Sue's deal."

"Do your—do your parents know?"

Without thinking, Kyle pulled out one of his stock responses. "Oh yeah. It's like they knew right away. They were pretty cool with it."

"'Were'?"

"Hmm?"

"They're not around anymore?"

"Ah... no." He drummed his fingers against the swing's armrest. "They, uh, they died. A few years ago. That's—that's actually how I know this place so well. Sue sort of took me in after—after they were gone."

"Oh. I didn't know. I'm... sorry."

"Eh. Don't worry about it."

Oliver reached out and tentatively tapped Kyle on the shoulder with his fingertips, as if to say _"There, there,"_ as awkwardly as humanly possible.

Kyle swiveled on the swing to lie on his back, one knee pulled up, the other leg hanging off the edge. Biting his lip, he took a chance and rested his head on Oliver's leg. He felt the slightest flinch, but then the muscles there noticeably relaxed, and Oliver's hand found his shoulder again, gently rubbing it. They remained that way, in a silence that Kyle could more easily accept, until a pair of headlights turned the corner of the drive and approached the house. Oliver's hand retreated, and Kyle slowly raised himself into a sitting position again.

Two figures emerged, the smaller one tottering a bit.

"That would be Sue," Kyle clarified, as if Oliver had asked a question. "And it looks like..." He squinted. "Larry."

Sue had her arm draped lazily over Larry's shoulders while he practically carried her to the porch. Her frazzled blond hair fell out of her wire headband in haphazard waves. For some reason, despite the time of night, she pulled her sunglasses out of her front pocket and adjusted them shakily over her eyes.

The two climbed the porch slowly. Two steps up, Sue planted her feet and pointed dramatically at the swing.

"Kyle! My little man! With your own big man! Like mine!" She slapped her hand against Larry's chest and laughed.

Kyle smiled up at them. "Thanks for taking care of her, Larry."

"No sweat, kid."

"I'll make sure she comes around for her car tomorrow."

"I know."

Sue reached up and pinched Larry's cheek, a little roughly. He rolled his eyes and swatted her hand away, smiling. She tilted her head toward the porch swing again, pushing her sunglasses down her nose to see them better.

"Heya. Aren't choo boys a little—_hiccup_—a little too... old to be drinkin'?"

Kyle scratched his chin and laughed. "Don't you remember, Sue? I turned twenty-one earlier this year."

Oliver's brows arched. Kyle cast what he hoped was a quieting glance in his direction.

Sue rubbed the skin behind her ear. "Oh. Oh yeah. Tha's right. You boys... _takecarenowmkay_?" She stumbled into the house on Larry's arm, the door slamming shut behind them.

Kyle smiled and shook his head. "She's not always like that. She's pretty normal during the daylight hours. You'll see."

The door swung open again and Larry hopped down the stairs toward the car. "Night, fellas."

Oliver brought his hand to his mouth and yawned.

"You wanna head in?" Kyle reached over to give Oliver's shoulder the usual platonic pat, but at the last moment found boldness and opted for a rub instead.

To Kyle's surprise, Oliver leaned his head down and rested his cheek on Kyle's knuckles, inhaling deeply.

"Sure."

Kyle led Oliver through the living room and down the hall of the small house, stopping outside the second door on the right. "There's only the one room, but luckily for you, it's got a double bunk."

Oliver nodded, but said nothing.

Kyle flipped on the light and looked around the small room. Seizing upon his duffle bag on the floor, a thought suddenly occurred to him.

"Hey, you didn't bring any stuff."

Oliver dropped his face into his hand. "I know. I didn't realize until I was already on the bus out of Llanview. You know, this was kind of an impulsive move, coming here."

Kyle's mouth fell open. "Impulsive? You practically scoured the earth for my location."

Oliver looked at him askance. "_Planning_ to come here... wasn't on impulse. _Actually_ showing up...?" He shrugged. "That just sort of... happened."

Kyle couldn't help himself. He took two steps toward Oliver and pulled him into a hug. "I'm glad you came."

Oliver's arms curled around Kyle's back like vines, his hands inching up until they reached his shoulder blades. He buried his face in the crook of Kyle's neck, and Kyle thought he felt the lips move there, just slightly, against his skin.

Breathing deep, Kyle believed it safe to declare it the best damn hug of his life.

After a few moments, he slowly removed himself from the clinch. "I might have some clean clothes left you can borrow tomorrow."

"Okay. Sure. Thanks."

"We should—" Kyle gestured toward the double bunk. "You okay with the top?"

Oliver grimaced. "Do I have a choice?"

Kyle smirked. "No. I'm taking the bottom no matter what." It had always been his.

"Fine."

Their backs turned, they each stripped down to their boxers. It was a strange show of modesty, but Kyle supposed anything else might have weirded Oliver out.

Kyle lay on top of the sheets, too hot to even think about getting under them, and stared up at the top bunk. He tapped his fingers against the mattress, trying to make his brain shut down and his eyes close.

He heard the sheets above him rustle. "Kyle?"

"Oliver."

"I want..." He paused. "I want the bottom bunk."

"Aw, that's too bad, buddy. It's already taken."

"Please?"

"Nuh uh. I'm not giving this sweet seat up. If you want it, you'll have to fight me for it." He karate-chopped the air, complete with sound effects. "To the death. Thunderdome-style."

"Maybe—maybe I will."

Silence. He thought he heard Oliver swallow.

"I'm—I'm coming down."

Kyle stopped breathing for a moment, mostly because his brain was no longer functioning properly. He took a few moments to try to line up the facts. Obviously Oliver didn't mean any funny business. He was too—too _Oliver_. But after today, after Oliver came all this way to be with him, to touch him and kiss him, he didn't know what to expect anymore. He had the feeling Oliver had no idea what he was doing, either.

He forced himself to breathe, but his voice still came out shaky and hoarse. "I guess, uh, whatever you wanted to do would be—would be, uh, cool with me."

"Okay."

Oliver clambered down the ladder and joined Kyle on the small single mattress. It was a bit of a tight squeeze. Kyle propped himself up on his elbow then reached for Oliver's face with his other hand.

"So, a fight to the death, is it?"

Oliver closed his eyes and leaned into Kyle's touch. He took in a deep breath as if he had just run a mile instead of descended a four foot ladder. Opening his eyes, pupils dilated, still breathing heavily, he extended a hand to caress Kyle's torso, his arms, his neck, as if getting a lay of the land. Then he moved in for his attack.

These kisses weren't leisurely, weren't the slow, tempting pecks of yore. These kisses were deep, insistent, mouths battling, tongues meeting, curling, dancing, probing. Kyle could feel the warmth in his chest marching with purpose to his stomach, to his lower body.

Things escalated in that manner until they became urgent. He could feel Oliver's... urgency through his boxers.

Acting on a purely reactionary level, Kyle reached down to survey the situation. Oliver gasped into his mouth and kissed him even harder, moving his body against the surveying hand.

Kyle gulped as their mouths parted for a moment. "You wanna...?" He hadn't planned on speaking. But now the words were out, he decided he may as well take credit for them.

Oliver's mouth stopped moving and he rested his forehead against Kyle's, sucking in deep breaths. He opened his eyes. "If you wanna."

Kyle paused, not sure what to say, even though it had been his unruly mouth to broach the subject in the first place.

He... _did_ want to. _Had_ wanted to, for a long time. And here, in Cherryvale of all places, in his old bed, he had Oliver, ready to go. It amazed him, took his breath away, that quiet, shy, by-the-book Oliver was practically on top of him, already thrusting against him gently, propositioning him.

He couldn't help but laugh. He was light-headed, in shock, incredibly turned on. Oliver brought a hand up to Kyle's smiling cheek before falling in for another round of kissing, his other hand making it's own survey of Kyle's interested party, unsteady at first, fumbling slightly, but growing more assured with each pass while Kyle trembled, gasped, laughed.

"_Mmm_... wait," Kyle said as Oliver's lips and tongue explored his neck. "I need to—to get us ready."

"Aren't we already?" Oliver mumbled against his skin.

Kyle laughed and slowly pushed him off. He carefully rose from the bed and tiptoed across the room, retrieving his wallet from his jeans, and with shaking hands extricated a short line of condoms.

Oliver lay on the bed with his elbows propped behind him.

Kyle ripped off the top-most packet and held it up. "You sure about this?" He placed the rest on the bureau.

"Y—Yes," Oliver said in an unusually deep voice. "Yes," he repeated, more quickly this time, and without the slight hitch.

Things were moving fast, probably too fast, but Kyle didn't care, and he was pretty sure Oliver didn't either. As healthy young men, they were perfectly within their rights to make what might be the biggest mistake of their lives. Or, Kyle wanted to believe, the best spur of the moment decision ever.

Leaning down, he cupped his hand behind Oliver's head and kissed him. He curled Oliver's fingers around the condom and wheeled toward the door. "You can take care of that, right? I'll be—" He swallowed. "I'll be right back. Don't move."

Once in the hall, his mind spun in all directions and he forgot how to form coherent thoughts. He took two steps toward the kitchen then abruptly turned around, shaking his head at his stupidity. Pan spray was definitely _not_ a good idea. Not his most shining moment of clarity. He shuffled down the hall toward the bathroom instead, trying to keep his footfalls light while hustling as fast as his tense body would allow.

He rifled through the medicine chest until he found what he needed. He pulled out the baby oil, then noticed the black labeled bottle behind it. God bless Sue. Jack Daniels in the bathroom. Kyle shoved it under his arm. They could use that too. He knew _he_ could.

He rushed out of the bathroom with his hands full. Glancing right, he caught sight of Sue's door—slightly ajar. He sneaked down the hall and quietly closed the door with a snick. He knew she was out for the night, but it didn't hurt to be safe. Or courteous, really.

Darting past the open bathroom door again, a thought struck him. He ventured back in and threw a wash cloth under running water. He smiled, pleased with his quick thinking, especially in his brain's blood-deprived state.

All of his supplies in tow, he turned back into his room and soundlessly closed the door. Oliver was sitting on the edge of the bed, contemplating his unfinished task, small latex disc in hand.

"Let me—" Kyle nabbed the unrolled condom from him. "Here." He shoved the bottle of Jack Daniels at Oliver. "Drink this."

Oliver took a quick gulp and scrunched his face, smacking his tongue against his lips.

Kyle snatched the bottle, tipped it back, and downed a mouthful himself. And then another. And one more, for luck.

Then he went to work prepping Oliver. They both gasped at the touch. Kyle wiped his oiled palms on the wash cloth, then squeezed the bottle over Oliver's hand.

Kyle lay on his side, his eyes pinched shut, his back to Oliver. Reaching behind him, he grabbed Oliver by the wrist and guided his fingers to their destination.

Oliver cupped his chin over Kyle's shoulder and pressed down, urging him to roll onto his back.

"Can we—can we do it this way?" He positioned himself above Kyle while his slick fingers began exploring again.

Kyle nodded his head up and down, breathing unsteadily; the ability to speak suddenly deserted him. It didn't matter, though, as Oliver leaned in and found a better use for their mouths.

After a few minutes, Oliver retracted the fingers and steadied himself.

Kyle sucked in a quick breath through his teeth as Oliver slowly pushed in.

It was strange, and big, and kind of uncomfortable... until it wasn't anymore. Until Oliver's lips grazed his cheek, his eyelids, his mouth. Until Kyle remembered to exhale, and the muscles in his body relaxed. Until he suddenly felt full and surrounded all at once.

Spears of heat shot through his stomach, igniting a low buzzing blaze in his chest, tremors circulated in his back, down his legs, his lower body shuddering with each cautious movement that slid deeper, and he couldn't help but push back, consciously, carefully.

Oliver's mouth attached itself to Kyle's collarbone while an industrious hand slipped between their bodies. Kyle arched his back, and they fell into a conjoined rhythm.

As the slow rolling sensations built and built and built under his skin, he felt himself tighten, tense, all of that white-hot energy pooling in his lower abdomen, every cell in his body jostling, humming, whirring, the heat pulsing through him, consuming the oxygen in his lungs, in the entire room it seemed, until he was gasping into Oliver's shoulder, breathing in his skin like life-support.

And then the tightness released.

Through the bright, blinding thrill that overtook his senses, he felt Oliver buck against him and then shudder.

In the quiet aftermath, their open mouths sought one another and connected, lips trembling, but not to kiss. It was more like they were resting there until fully recuperated, simply breathing each other's air.

After a few moments like that, they carefully pulled their bodies apart. Still shivering despite the stifling heat in the room, Kyle gingerly sat up. He surveyed the mess they had made. Reaching over, he grabbed the wash cloth, still damp, off the bureau and wiped down his chest and stomach. Then he focused his attention on Oliver's. With unsteady strokes, he cleaned himself off Oliver until only a solitary pearl remained. Oliver's stomach twitched under his touch. He looked down at Kyle's arm and gulped.

Kyle, out of pure scientific curiosity, reached out a finger and swiped that last glistening bead. He studied it in the soft light of the room, how it mingled with the sweat from Oliver's skin.

Oliver, miming the same methodical, almost mechanical, deliberateness, took hold of Kyle's wrist and brought the hand to his mouth, sucking in the investigative finger, wiping it clean with his tongue.

"Oh—_oh man_—" Kyle couldn't hold back his moan. Amazingly, he felt himself stir again.

He didn't know where this new Oliver had come from. He was like a different person entirely... a really, _really_ sexy Mr. Hyde. It was as if he had left the shy geek in the top bunk. Hell, he'd left him all the way back in Llanview.

Back in Llanview, Oliver was also _straight_, so maybe there was something to the whole dual-personality, sexual-monster theory.

Kyle couldn't help but laugh at his runaway thoughts. His mind was spinning twenty different threads at once in his... giddiness. He wanted to find another word for it, but simply couldn't. He was giddy. Like a school girl. Flying high on good vibrations. It was... weird. And kind of embarrassing. And totally, totally awesome.

Oliver looked down and, apparently noticing Kyle's very, very visceral reaction to his display, reached across him and ripped another condom off the line.

Kyle rested a hand on his arm. "I don't think I can again—tonight."

Oliver shook his head. He grabbed the bottle of Jack Daniels off the floor and took a swig, hissing through his teeth. "For you this time." He placed the small foil square in Kyle's fingers. "When you're ready," he murmured, resting his forehead on Kyle's shoulder.

"Oh... I see." Kyle gulped. "Who—who _are_ you?" he wondered aloud, his eyes squinting with incredulity.

Oliver lifted his head, his gaze slightly unfocused, and silenced any further suspicions with his warm whiskey mouth.


	5. Part V

**What Happens in Cherryvale...**

_V._

Kyle smiled as he watched Sue hobble through the kitchen, poking through the cabinets wearily. She had her sunglasses on, her hair pulled back loosely in a clip, and she flinched at every noise, no matter how tiny.

"Late night?" Kyle asked innocently.

Sue scowled at him, then poured herself a steaming mug of coffee. "Not so loud, kiddo. I've got a bit of a headache." She coughed. "Probably just the flu."

"Uh huh." Kyle turned to Oliver, who was digging into his eggs, and winked.

Sue sniffed the pan of eggs on the stove top then covered her mouth to hide a gag. "Uck." She wandered around the table, holding her coffee mug to her lips. "It's a little late isn't it? Shouldn't you be out... doing something?"

Kyle tapped his fork against his plate. "We... had a late night, too." He looked to Oliver, who stared at his food, his face unreadable. Kyle sighed. "After breakfast, we're gonna do the stables and then, I dunno, maybe head out to the pond for a few hours before we have to catch the bus back to the city."

Sue shrugged, slowly lifting her sunglasses and perching them on her head. She blinked a few times, adjusting her eyes to the light. "Why don't you boys take the horses for a ride? I'm sure they could use the exercise."

Kyle almost choked on his eggs. "I—uh, I'm a little too sore for riding today, I think."

Oliver's eyes widened. Sue's narrowed.

"I went for a pretty good ride yesterday," he clarified, clearing his throat and staring intently at a dark knot in the wooden table, smiling to himself.

He heard Sue cluck her tongue. "You didn't go bareback again, did you? I told you to cut that out."

Kyle snorted. Oliver's knee hit the underside of the table.

"Uh, no, course not. I used a—a saddle." He felt all the blood in his body flush into his cheeks as he sucked in his lips and tried to hold back his laughter.

"All right, all right." Dishes clanked against the ceramic sink. "Hey, you feeling okay there, Oliver?"

Kyle looked up. Oliver had his forehead pressed against the table, his hands folded behind his head. It looked like he was trying to use his forearms to block out all noise from his ears.

"He's just a little tired," Kyle replied. "I gave him kind of a workout yesterday." He saw the slightest movement as Oliver's head banged against the table again with a soft thud. "Around the stables," he added.

Sue brought her face next to Kyle's ear and whispered, loud enough for Oliver to hear, "This one seems a little skittish, kiddo. I hope you're being... gentle with him on these 'rides' of yours."

She patted Kyle on the shoulder then ambled out of the kitchen, mug to mouth, while Oliver's forehead went to town on the table and Kyle slapped his knee in uproarious, uncontrollable laughter.

After breakfast, Oliver remained silent throughout their chores, focused and fast-working. Finally, as they wiped their sweaty faces against their shirt sleeves and walked back toward the main house, Oliver turned to Kyle with a tiny grin on his flushed face.

"You really, really suck."

Kyle bumped his shoulder. "Play nice and maybe I will."

Oliver's already red face seemed to grow two shades darker. "Kyle! Gross!"

"Oh, Mr. Innocent now! Bet I can change your tune on that one."

Oliver laughed, lowering his head coyly. "Let's just get cleaned up, get those beers, and get out of here, okay?"

* * * * *  
The sound of water gently lapping against reeds lulled Kyle into a peaceful reverie.

He lay on his back, the grass soft under him, Oliver's warm body next to him, their minds full of each other and their stomachs full of beer.

The empty bottles began to resemble a green glass mountain. Kyle felt something tickle against his stomach. He peered down. Oliver's right index and middle fingers skittered across his midsection, lively and nimble like a spider. They halted at one of his shirt buttons, circling around it as if scouting out the territory, then quickly snapped it open.

Kyle watched, entranced, as the fingers moved up his shirt, continuing in their little dance until the fabric fell open at Kyle's sides. He turned his head to look at Oliver, whose face was plastered with the goofiest looking grin he'd ever seen.

"That's quite the trick."

"Like it?"

"Very much so."

"Good." Oliver propped himself up on one elbow, a little unsteadily, then his face swooped forward and his nose nudged the shirt completely out of his way. Kyle's head fell back as he felt Oliver's soft breath travel up and down his torso.

"What're you up to down there?"

"Investigating. Ah—there it is."

"There what is?"

"This little dip, right... here." He punctuated his last words by running his tongue along the edge of one of Kyle's ribs. "I thought I spotted it last night. I've been wanting to get a closer look."

Kyle laughed. "Does it pass inspection?"

Oliver continued lavishing the hollow with kisses. "Mm hmm."

A smile spread over Kyle's face that he couldn't restrain, and the laughter poured out of his mouth as water from a pitcher. He had never felt so _wanted_ in his entire life.

The feeling overwhelmed him. He'd been so used to being on his own, to being okay with not needing anyone—playing that old role of Mysterious Loner he thought suited him so well—that it was almost frightening to admit how much Oliver's presence in his life had come to mean to him over the past six months. How empty he was afraid he'd feel if that presence ever deserted him.

It wasn't supposed to be that way. He thought, after years of struggle, he had overcome that fear. Maybe he should have put up more safeguards. Maybe it had been a mistake to let Oliver in.

But hadn't Oliver proven himself? Hadn't _he_ sought Kyle out? Everything over the past two days had been... perfect. Beautiful, even.

A cool breeze swept past, and he could hear the water in the pond ripple around the reeds in a soft whisper. The top of Oliver's head grazed his chin.

"You... are delicious," Oliver murmured. Kyle stroked his hands through Oliver's hair.

"Thanks," he said, forgetting his thoughts, his doubts, just letting that warm, comforting current in his chest course through him. He felt something wet on his eyelashes, but ignored it.

Oliver's lips steadily moved upward, summitting Kyle's chin. He planted small, beer-flavored kisses on each corner of Kyle's mouth. Kyle puckered, trying in vain to capture those elusive lips with his own. "Get back here," he hummed.

Oliver pulled up, causing Kyle to blink open his eyes. Oliver tilted his head, reached out a hand, and wiped away a tear that had streamed down Kyle's temple to his ear.

"What's this?"

Kyle lied. "I'm ticklish."

"Ah." Without wasting a breath, Oliver resumed his progress, moving his lips back down Kyle's chin, his neck, his collarbone, his chest, dusting kisses along the trail.

"No, it's just—" Kyle's brain warred with his heart. Inhaling sharply, he realized how good it had felt to open up to Oliver last night on the porch, to have someone who would listen and understand. To have someone to respect—to trust.

He smiled, closed his eyes, exhaled. "It's just, I can't remember ever being so... _happy_."

"Mmm," Oliver replied absently, preoccupied with the very important task of munching on Kyle's stomach.

Two hours later, Kyle looked at his watch and sighed. "I really hate to say this, but... we better head back."

Oliver groaned. "Don't wanna."

Kyle nuzzled his nose under Oliver's ear. "C'mon, big guy. We're gonna miss our bus."

"Llanview awaits," Oliver muttered. Kyle thought he detected a small frown coiling on the corners of Oliver's mouth.

* * * * *  
The bus rattled along the darkened highway, the road pocked and pitted by seasons of inclement weather and neglect. The passengers jostled in their seats, clutching their belongings close to their laps. Kyle felt steady, though, like nothing could knock him out of his place. Oliver's shoulder was sturdy and warm, his green cotton pullover soft against Kyle's temple. After a particularly rough patch of road, he reached over and brought Oliver's hand to his thigh, interlacing their fingers. Oliver squeezed his hand. Relaxed, Kyle let his eyelids grow heavy, thinking to himself how good it felt to be so close to someone they felt like an extension of his own limbs.

Before his eyes fell shut, he could just make out the "_Welcome to Llanview_" sign as it whirred past the window.

He dreamed of his mother, of his last memory of her—of toddling into her arms and being spun around the room. His last memory of _home_.

Kyle woke when a sudden jolt sent his head falling. Like instinct, he found Oliver's steady shoulder again—only to have his head gently nudged off. Oliver wrested his hand out of Kyle's grip.

Sitting up and turning toward Oliver, Kyle rubbed his eyes to adjust to the soft light of the bus's interior. Oliver's stare was twitchy, almost frantic, darting from the back of the seat in front of him to the other side of the bus. Kyle followed his line of sight. Across the aisle, a woman peered at them over the top of her book, her eyes hard and narrow.

"You know her?" Kyle mumbled, trying to waken the last of his senses.

Oliver pressed his lips tightly together and shook his head with the barest of movement, as if anything more would attract unwanted attention. Crossing his arms over his chest, he pressed himself into the back corner of his seat, the side furthest from Kyle.

Kyle regarded the woman. Nice clothes, designer bag. Pleasant face, except for those eyes. A complete stranger. Someone they'd never seen before and would never see again.

Sighing, Kyle wrapped his arms around himself and sleepily fell back against the seat, content to dream of the past... of the future.

The coarse fabric of the headrest scratched his neck, like a doubt that niggles at the back of the mind.


End file.
